‘It would do your cousin a vast deal of good to run away from that feather-weight husband of hers. Look shocked, if you choose; I am in earnest. I consider,’ said Marjorie, displaying her worldly wisdom with gravity, ‘that Mr. Gaston Arbuthnot’s character is thoroughly spoilt. He is a charming fellow, doubtless. Still, everybody need not remind him of his charm to his face.’
‘And you believe in retributive morality? You think the curative treatment for a charming fellow is—that his wife should run away from him?’
‘My experience of charming fellows would incline me towards heroic treatment. As we walked up from Langrune I asked Mrs. Arbuthnot to start with me on foot for Spain. With twenty francs in our pocket, I told her, and doing a day’s work on the road whenever our resources ran low, we might get down safe to the frontier in time. But Mrs. Arbuthnot did not seem to see it.’
‘Dinah’s is not an adventurous spirit. If you would accept a substitute, Miss Bartrand, perhaps I——’
‘Go on, pray.’
‘Might be allowed to follow, with a thick stick, at a distance.’
‘Keep your stick for England! I would not be afraid on the loneliest road between this and Barcelona.’
‘Without the stick, then—shall we start?’
Marjorie shifted her posture a little. She became suddenly interested in a plant of marshmallow at her side.